A Night in Carmel, California
by Erinyes
Summary: I stood staring for a few minutes. It suddenly sunk in, like a stone thrown into water. Susannah stood no chance against Heather; Susannah was going to fail and Heather would kill her. Jesse's POV


**A Night in Caramel, California**

Many apologizes for taking so long to finish and upload the story. This is a one-chapter story, however I have a lengthier, more plot-driven Mediator fic in the early stages of production (that sounds so fancy, doesn't it?). Also there is a bit in this story where Jesse speaks in Spanish. I translated it online, but I know it's not accurate. If there are any spanish-fluent readers, I would love it if I could have it translated. Without further ado....  
  
"Well, if the priest will be there…." I trailed off. 

She was lying. I was nearly sure of it. Granted, I hadn't known her for very long. The past two days had been much less revealing than the first one had been. I noticed she spent as little time as possible in my—now, technically, her room—after our less-than-pleasant initial meeting. The one in which she had told me to clear out of the room. Or else, was the impression I'd had at the time. She'd stormed downstairs, returning many hours later to the room where she had changed—in the bathroom, I noted—and then promptly fallen asleep. 

I had the distinct feeling she was trying to give me enough time to decide whether I was going to leave voluntarily or not. Clearly, we had much to learn about each other. 

It was worthwhile, I reminded myself, to remember that she had tried her damnedest to commit suicide just last night. She was clearly more determined than I expected. 

"Sure. Sure he will." 

My grip on the handle tightened. I recognized that careless tone. It was the same one my sisters used when they played taunted the gold-miners that spent days and weeks in the mountains when they came into town. 

She was lying! She planned to encounter Heather, once again, solitarily. And, from what I guessed, with a similarly effective plan. I was certain the priest was more sensible than Susannah was; Heather must have hurt him for him to allow Susannah to attempt something so perilous again. 

As I told her this I wagged my finger in her face as if I was lecturing Seina for yet again teasing our sisters. I had the feeling this would not be as effective as it was with my eight-year old sister, despite the fact that Seina was often more reasonable. Susannah followed my finger back and forth with her eyes, she was probably thinking about grabbing it again. I withdrew my hand. 

"Did she kill him?" I questioned worriedly. If something had happened to the priest I alone would not be enough to dissuade Susannah from her hazardous, nightly jaunts. Jaunts that were not likely to continue for long, particularly if she got into this habit of trying to exorcise hostile ghosts. 

Susannah shook her head immediately. I relaxed—only slightly—because the priest wasn't here to argue with Susannah over how risky this was. Just me. 

I looked closely at Susannah's face as she finished shaking her head. There was something in her face. An unpleasant emotion apparently because she kind of frowned, tried to swallow, and frowned again. At first she appeared sad, after a couple of deep breaths it became determined anger. Suddenly, I realized. 

"That's why you're so angry, I should have known." I spoke with some surprise. Although, I shouldn't have been surprised. This was how I figured she would react. Quick to become indignant at being challenged—as Heather had clearly done—and quicker yet to seek revenge. "You're going down there to get even with her for what she did to the priest." I finished in slightly accusatory tone. 

I didn't quite expect the reaction I received. 

"So what if I am?" She demanded in a violent rage. "She deserves it!" 

I shook my head so that she didn't notice. Leaning over the bike, I grasped the second handle—effectively halting her plan, at least, for the time being. "Susannah, this isn't the way." I wasn't sure exactly what I was going to say to her, but I definitely started out sounding like the padre at my old mission. "This wasn't why you were given this extraordinary gift, not so you could do things like—" 

"Gift!" Susannah interrupted me with what looked to become a fit of laughter. Apparently I wasn't going to wonder over what I was going to say to her. 

Susannah ground her teeth together. She barely opened her jaws wide enough to spit out her following cynicism-laden speech. "I've been given a precious gift. Well, you know what? I'm sick of it. I really am. I thought coming out here, I'd be able to make a new start. I thought things might be different. And you know what? They are. They're worse." 

There! A break as she paused to take a much-needed breath. "Susannah-", I started. 

To this day I have no idea what I was going to tell her, which was, I suppose, just as well. Maybe I was going to argue with her over the fact that her life was worse—as if I would know. Perhaps I was going to take the priest's side and attempt to persuade Susannah that her ability was a marvelous gift, something even I didn't believe. Though, for as much as I ended up saying, I could have discussed the irony of her failed chance at a new start—I was dead, after all—because, at that second she continued as if I hadn't said anything. 

"What am I supposed to do, Jesse?" She asked. Before I could volunteer an answer, Susannah's exasperated enthusiasm had supplied one answer for me. It was like lighting a small cooking fire and, then being forced to wait helplessly as it consumes that night's meal. It was mildly intimidating. "Love Heather for what she did? Embrace her wounded spirit? I'm sorry, but that's impossible. Maybe Father Dom could do it, but not me, and he's out of commission, so we're going to do things my way." 

Like a deadbolt sliding into place, Susannah's tone abruptly slide from an irritated explanation to what I took to be a threat, "I'm going to get rid of her, and if you know what's good for you, Jesse, you'll stay away!" 

She was a girl and easily four years younger than I was, but I still pulled back slightly. Before I had a chance to recover, Susannah had grasped both handles and pulled them toward her. At the same time she violently kicked the bike; almost immediately it sagged to one side in my grasp. Before I could get a new hold, Susannah had the bike and was astride it. I only had a moment to frown disapprovingly at her profile before she pushed off with her feet. In seconds she was many feet away and gaining speed as she began to disappear below me into the dark. 

For a second I considered following and stopping her. This idea was rejected the instant it sprang into my mind. How could I possibly stop her? Separated from her bike, I had no doubt Susannah would simply continue on foot. 

"¡Esto no alcanzará nada menos su muerte! (This won't accomplish anything except your death!)" Finally, in desperation and frustration, I had resorted to yelling after her quickly departing figure. "Qué lo hace hace, (What will you do,)" Susannah was growing smaller in the distance, "¿Cuándo usted da la vuelta y hay nadie salvarlo? (when you turn around and there is no one to save you?)" 

Susannah disappeared out of sight. 

In hindsight, I realized this was as futile as my previous efforts had been. I was fairly sure Susannah didn't understand Spanish, particularly not as I stood at the driveway and shouted it down at her. 

I stood staring for a few minutes. It suddenly sunk in, like a stone thrown into water. Susannah stood no chance against Heather; Susannah was going to fail and Heather would kill her. All because I couldn't go to the mission. 

I stopped. Why? Why didn't she want me there? Was it truly because she didn't want me exorcised? Perhaps, despite how grateful she had seemed, Susannah was indignant that I appeared last night. I dismissed the thought and silently disappeared. She was not foolish enough to convince herself she didn't need help. 

I reappeared in her room and quickly looked around. She was gone, of course; I was alone. The shimmering pink-and-cream wallpapering and the bright mirror gleamed accusingly at me. She could have let me follow her and she would have rid herself of two ghosts, then this room would have been hers and hers alone. 

I turned away and unconsciously began to pace. Ten strides, from the bathroom door to the far wall. As I reached the wall and started to turn and continue pacing, I stopped dead. "Cristo," I swore under my breath, suddenly disgusted with my indecision. 

Soon as the hushed word left my mouth and I heard it, I was furious. 

The past five days caught up to me at once, slamming into my skull like individual bullets. I was dead—this I knew, but the past few days had reinforced my awareness of the fact. My room, the one I had inhabited for the past 151 years, was no longer mine. And I had been exiled from it. By Susannah. 

Impossibly, despite the fact that she had insulted, lied to, and addressed me as the purposeless ghost I realized I was, I felt responsible for her safety. Why should I worry? She'd made it clear she didn't want, nor need, my help. 

But she does. The nagging voice seemed to swing around in my mind like a noose as I stared at Susannah's music cases. Of all people, you're the only one who knows. 

A ghost. 

I jerked. Some part of me—that fragment everyone possessed that wants so desperately to live—rejected the thought. Refused it. How could I be dead? It rationalized futilely. Here I am. 

With the mental jolt, my arm, which I hadn't realized was outstretched, shook slightly. In the second it took for my disbelieving mind to drag my eyes downward, the CD, precariously stacked to begin with, fell. Before I could blink and react, it crashed to the floor, after passing effortlessly through the bridge of my foot. 

It hit the floor where it flew open to reveal a shiny disc and I whipped my foot back as if it were on fire, if I could feel the heat a flame. 

I stood there for a long moment, watching the disc slowly spin as my emotions spun around inside me. Resent that I had been so slighted by Susannah, my concern judged insignificant. And anger because, after 151 years of a desolate "existence", I still persisted in lowering my voice as not to disturb someone. As if I could be heard. It made no difference if I whispered or raged and swore at the top of my voice. 

That was generally how being dead worked. A total lack of communication, unless, of course, you encounter a mediator—not that the one I'd met was very tolerant or understanding. The disc stopped—it's momentum had been dying out and slowly for the past couple minutes at my feet. Trapped between life and death with only two means of escape: discovering and resolving what is holding you back or forceful removal by an exorcism. 

I bent down and lifted the case, experimentally closing the smooth, transparent cover. Click. The answer fit together like the case in my hands. The question had been in the back of my mind since Susannah left. Why didn't she want me at the mission? Perhaps, what I thought and had assumed was wrong. It hadn't been insult; It had been concern. Her early ridiculing words aside, Susannah refused to let me walk into my own death—even if voluntary. 

I laid the closed case on the glass-covered table, catching sight of a clock beside Susannah's textbooks. She had been gone eleven minutes. Now it wasn't me who was waiting for death. And I wasn't going to stand around and wait again. I had been waiting for 151 years; maybe this is what I was waiting for. A chance. 

I was already halfway to his room before I realized I had a plan. Doc, David, or whatever he should be referred to, was asleep in a bed shoved into the corner below a poster displaying the earth and various atmospheric layers. Strange child. 

As I strode forward, I had a brief twinge of guilt at what effect this likely would have on him. I brushed it aside; He was younger and had a family that cared for him. He had his whole life ahead of him and years from now this would only be a night in Carmel, California. It seemed like a hell lot more than a single night to me. 

My hand stretched forward in the dark and lightly grasped his shoulder. In a whisper, I called his given name—it would be traumatic enough without me being polite. 

No response. He barely twitched in his sleep. 

I set my jaw determinedly and tried again. This time rolling him onto his back, face toward me. 

This time, he reacted sleepily. Laying an arm over his face, he mumbled, "Go 'way, Jake. I won't be late." 

"I'm not Jake. Wake up." 

Wake up he did. He jerked his arm away from his face. I winced slightly as it struck the wall. He didn't seem to notice his elbow, as he stared up at me with wide, terror-filled eyes. There was that twinge of guilt again. "Wh-Who are you?" 

Where to begin? I shifted. "It's not important, David. I need you to do something for me." 

His eyes widened further, surprisingly bright for so dark a room. "No," His voice wobbled—he was probably terrified at defying me. "Go away!" With this, he burrowed under his sheets. 

I sighed and pulled them down so I could face him again. "I can't." He turned away from me and faced the wall. I pulled on the shoulder closest to me and turned him to face me. "David," The twelve-year old squeezed his eyes shut. "Please, you have to help." 

"No." A simple answer, probably all he could think of to say. He started to pull away; I repositioned my grip on his shoulder. "Ask someone else." 

I was getting nowhere. Changing the topic slightly, I said, "You already know about me. I heard you talk to Susannah." 

An eye opened curiously. "What do you want me to do?" 

I slumped slightly in relief. "You must go to your school with your brothers and get Susannah." 

He blinked at me confusedly. "But it's night and Suze's asleep. Right?" 

I shook my head, getting worried again—I had already wasted enough time, Heather wouldn't be taking her time. "She left. She's in grave danger. David, she might be dead." 

"You're fooling. She's probably asleep right now." 

I stared in shock. What had happened to the petrified little boy? I straightened up and roughly shook him by the shoulder I still held. "I will stay here all night if you don't get your brothers." I threatened. 

It worked. He was still afraid enough of me to quickly climb out of his bed. He turned to the door and was halfway to it when he faced me. "Um, when we get there, where will she be?" 

I looked at him and he looked right back at me, his worry for Susannah greater than his fear of me. Despite myself, I was surprised. "I don't know, but I have a feeling it will be obvious." 

He nodded, then stepped into the hallway. I watched as he passed Susannah's quiet room and turned to me one last time. "Do you know Suze, then?" 

I smiled, "Yes, I'm beginning to understand her." 

He looked confused with my answer, but opened the door to his brother's room anyway and went inside to wake him. 

End


End file.
